Men Amongst Men
by Icabu
Summary: Intra-Squad training turns out to be a miscalculation
1. Chapter 1

"Gentlemen." Lt. Harrelson addressed his pre-caffeinated team. "We have a surprise for you this morning." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Dominic Luca glanced at his watch as he cleared the stairs, drawn to the little table with the coffee pot. "Already, Lieutenant?" Dom frowned, finding the pot empty and sparkling clean.

"What's up, Lieutenant?" Jim Street asked, leaning against his desk, strategically placed directly in front of the coffee table.

Harrelson waited until TJ McCabe and Sgt. Deke Kay joined the group. Although, Deke, his second-in-command, already knew what was coming.

"Very shortly we will load up and head to the Academy for some CQT." Letting that settle in for a moment, he continued, "The only weapons allowed are those God gave you."

"Ooh, yeah," Dom said. He faked a few quick punches at Jim. "Who do we get to beat up this time?"

"Well, that's just it." Harrelson began pacing between the rows of desks. "Since you guys don't really have any competition locally, we're trying intra-squad training."

Harrelson raised his hands to quiet the expected boasting and chest thumping. "I need you to remember this is Training. Close Quarters Training. Limit yourselves to about sixty percent. We don't need to decommission anyone."

"You want us to pull punches?" TJ asked.

Harrelson sighed. Not that he hadn't expected this. "In a manner of speaking, yes. I want to concentrate on technique." He let them quibble amongst themselves for a moment. "As an incentive, Deke will referee and judge each match. Grand prize is a bout with yours truly."

The silence was thick enough to chew.

"You mean," Dom said, his street-Italian accent very apparent. "That we'll fight each other, in turn, and the winner takes on you?"

Harrelson's ego enjoyed the incredulity that he heard in Luca's voice. "That's right."

#

"I was holding my own until his elbow came out of nowhere," Dom said, wincing as he probed the 'mouse' puffing under his left eye.

"Well, I definitely had the upper hand until his head busted my lip." TJ pulled the blood-speckled towel away and fingered his swelling lip.

"Sorry guys, but injury is an automatic out." Deke pushed the towel against TJ's oozing lip. "This'll be over soon and we can all get back to Olympic and get some coffee."

"I don't know how quick it's going to be," TJ said. "Jim's really pouring it on."

"You gotta admit, Jim's a pretty even match physically to the Lieutenant," Dom added.

Deke shook his head. "Youth," he muttered. "Jim's strong, sure, but he doesn't stand a chance against Hondo's experience. Not even close."

"Well, Jim did just have two tough matches. The Lieutenant is fresh," TJ said, hedging to Harrelson's side. "I say the Lieutenant wins, but it'll be closer than you think."

"Jim'll stay close," Dom agreed. "But, I think Deke's right-on about the experience factor."

#

Jim Street felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins like ice. Flush with two victories, of sorts, over his teammates, he now stared into his commander's intense eyes. Swallowing the last of his fear at facing off with Hondo Harrelson, he centered himself on the task before him. Just a man, he told himself repeatedly, like a mantra. Just like any other …

The combatants warily circled each other. The wounded sideline duo called support to both sides. Deke hovered discreetly, wondering if he would be able to keep this under control if egos got out of hand.

Harrelson started, tackling Jim in a bull rush. Rolling with the momentum, Jim separated and jumped back to his feet. His attempted foot sweep was caught and a scramble ensued.

Deke ran in blowing his whistle as each had a headlock on the other, both faces turning beet red. TJ and Dom ran over and helped Deke pull the interlocked pair apart.

Circling again, Harrelson twisted in for a shoulder roll. Jim levered his hips and pulled Harrelson down from behind. Another scramble and Harrelson escaped with a barely controlled chop to Jim's neck. Deke, TJ, and Dom came forward, but Harrelson motioned them away and gave Jim the chance to get on his feet.

Coughing and drenched with sweat from this and the two previous matches, Jim circled. He rushed this time, catching Harrelson in the chest and driving him back against the padded wall. Jim's forearm inched toward Harrelson's throat.

Catching a glint in Jim's eye as the younger man pressed his advantage; Harrelson reached out and pushed against Jim's face with much more than sixty-percent strength. As Jim's arm closed in on his windpipe, Harrelson's instincts took over. Without conscious thought, his left knee jerked up. Mild surprise registered as he felt Jim shift to the right at the same instant. Then his knee caught purchase, hard, near Jim's chest. Harrelson heard the air rush out of the Jim's lungs and saw his eyes widen with pain and defeat. Harrelson stepped aside as Jim thumped to the floor.

Knowing it would take Jim a couple of painful minutes to get his breath back, he held the others back with a raised hand. Having to heave for his own breath, Harrelson bent over with his hands on his knees, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Sweat dripped onto the floor off his face. He had to give the young buck credit; he hadn't had a challenge like that for some time.

Concerned that Jim hadn't moved yet. Harrelson stepped away and motioned Deke in. With hands on his hips, Harrelson walked over to the water fountain on the far wall of the training room. He felt that Jim might be a little embarrassed to get up with him standing so close. Leaning against the far wall, he watched. Jim had his knees under him now, but his head was still on the floor. TJ and Dom joined to help Jim to his feet. Finally standing, Jim turned with his back to the wall, now facing Harrelson from across the room. Guilt washed through Harrelson when he saw Jim's pale, sweaty face, his eyes dull and unfocused.

Head hanging, Harrelson headed for the shower. He hadn't meant to hurt Jim. It concerned him deeply that his defensive reaction had occurred automatically. It did not matter who the opponent was. He had asked his team to do something he couldn't do himself.

#

The pain, when Jim could feel again, was the worst he could remember. His limbs were still numb. The sips of air he managed sent piercing stabs through his left side. He'd wanted to bounce back up and go again, but that wasn't going to happen. Deke finally came over, but speech was not yet possible and he wasn't going to moan and groan. Clenching his teeth, he managed to get his knees under him. A wave of dizziness prevented him from going right to his feet. He rested his head on the floor until it passed.

TJ and Dom helped him to his feet. He brushed them off and turned to rest his back against the wall. The dizziness persisted and his eyes refused to focus. Sweet air filled his lungs again but sharp pain punctuated each breath.

"You all right, Jim?" Deke asked. "That was quite a blow you took."

Not trusting his voice, Jim nodded.

"Okay," Deke said calmly, "we're going to hit the showers." He motioned TJ and Dom to go and watched as they reluctantly back-stepped, keeping sight of Jim, then finally entering the locker room door.

"You collect yourself and get cleaned up." Deke took a step back. "Then we'll get out of here."

Jim nodded again. Once Deke disappeared behind the locker room door, Jim curled protectively around his left side. In a rage of frustration, he banged the wall with his right fist. He'd been so damn confident and what did it get him? Busted ribs, most likely. His stomach clenched and nausea sent him staggering for the trash can in the corner. He heaved his stomach's contents into the can, seeing spots in his vision with the effort.

Slowly, he made his way to the locker room. By the time he got his sweat soaked clothes off, all the others had left. After struggling through a quick shower and into his uniform, Jim's left side settled into a throbbing ache that took all of his efforts to palliate.

Everyone was quiet on the ride back to Olympic.

#

"How's he doing out there?" Harrelson asked Deke, taking the folder the sergeant held out.

Deke knew which 'he' Hondo meant. "Pale and a little sweaty. He's keeping his left arm tucked in tight to his side, rather protectively, if you know what I mean."

"Damn." Harrelson slammed the folder on this desk. He looked steadily at Deke. "I didn't mean to hurt him." His brow furrowed in concern. "Should I order him to the hospital?"

"We know it wasn't on purpose, Hondo – same as Dom's eye and TJ's lip." Deke sat in the chair in front of Harrelson's desk, feeling that this may take a while. "As for the hospital, I think it might be taken as adding insult to the injury if you order him. He'll go if he needs to."

"He thought he had me," Harrelson said, giving Deke a knowing look. "I could see it in his eyes."

"Hell, Hondo," Deke said. "I thought he had you."

Harrelson dropped his gaze to his lap. "I think I did, too." His gaze snapped back to Deke. "Kid's a real bull."

"But an untrained bull," Deke said.

"Not completely, just not enough – yet."

"Similarities again, Hondo?" Deke asked.

Harrelson got out of his chair and stared out at the team working at their desks. "How many rifles has he cleaned?"

Deke rose, knowing the meaningful conversation was done. "Three, Hondo. His full share. I checked them personally – spotless as usual. Just like the others.

"If I scheduled the obstacle course, he'd be out there," Harrelson said.

Deke nodded. "First in line. Probably with busted ribs."

Turning away, Harrelson returned to his chair. "I didn't mean it, dammit. It was an automatic response."

Suddenly feeling old, Harrelson rubbed his sore shoulder.

"Send them home at four," Harrelson told Deke. "We all could use a rest."

#

Jim figured he had a lot to do with the team being released early. He carefully timed changing his shirt until Dom was heading up the stairs. As quickly as he could, he swapped his uniform shirt with his civvy shirt, keeping the growing bruise under cover. A wave of dizziness paused him. He gulped air until it passed, slipped into his jacket, and climbed the stairs.

At home, he bypassed the kitchen due to his churning stomach. Instead, he went directly to his bedroom, curling protectively around his left side, and immediately fell asleep.

The buzzing sound changed to repeated raps, more buzzing.

Jim sat up, wincing. It was dark out now. He made his way to the door and pulled it open. Sheri stood in front of him, a scowl firmly etched on her face. She had on her flight attendant uniform dress. A buried memory kicked in his brain and he knew he was in trouble.

"You didn't pick me up at the airport, Jim," she said. She brushed past him, bumping his left side. A hiss escaped as he doubled-over.

"Jim?" Sheri's scowl was gone; concern quickly replacing it.

He held up his hand to stop her and slowly straightened. "Training incident this morning," he said.

"Oh, Jim."

#

Betty Harrelson entered the house after the boys. She noted the patio door open and smelled grill smoke. Curious, she stepped out and stared at her husband. "You're home early."

Dan turned and smiled. Betty looked more beautiful every day.

She approached Dan, studying his face. She touched his cheek. "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Dan said, "Can't pull anything over your eyes."

"No," she said, "and you'd better not be trying to. Spill it."

He pulled her close, hugging tightly. "I miscalculated," he whispered in her ear.

"Anyone hurt?"

"Just about everyone." He released her.

"How?"

"Training. Close Quarters," he said.

"Who on earth did you train against?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Us. Oursleves."

Shock registered on Betty's face. "Oh, no, Dan. What's the damage?"

Taking a deep breath, Dan said, "McCabe has a busted lip; Luca a black eye, and I may have cracked Street's ribs."

"You did all that?"

"No. The guys battled against each other. The spoils was a bout with me," he said.

"Oh, Dan."


	2. Chapter 2

The aroma of fresh coffee alerted Harrelson that his worries about Jim Street were unfounded. It was true relief to see Street at his desk bent over a folder full of forms.

"Street," he greeted, "how's it going this morning?"

When Jim looked up from his work, some of Harrelson's worries returned. Jim's face was still pale except for the sleepless bags beneath his eyes.

"Good, Lieutenant," Jim answered. "Coffee's fresh."

Harrelson nodded. "Smells great. How's your, uh …"

Jim sat back and rubbed his hand gently over his left ribs. "Sore." He grinned slightly. "But healing." He couldn't mention that the bruise had doubled in size overnight or that the pains ran from his shoulder down to his back. If a sixty percent blow put him down, how could he survive a career in SWAT?

"Glad to hear that." Harrelson poured his coffee and went to his desk, checking the schedule for the day.

"I smell coffee," Dom called from the top of the steps. He and TJ thundered down the steps like a herd of elephants. Deke followed at a more dignified pace. They changed quickly into their uniforms and gathered around Jim's desk, drinking and chatting. Deke wandered into Harrelson's office.

"What's on the docket for today?" Deke asked.

Harrelson closed the folder on his desk and leaned back. "We have the range from ten to noon."

"Before then?"

"We've got three calls to review."

Deke sighed. "Well, that'll take us to eight-thirty, maybe."

Harrelson frowned. "Yeah, it's light. So sue me."

"And if we get a call?"

"Then it's business as usual, like always." Harrelson grabbed the call folders and exited his office.

#

Harrelson walked behind the firing line. The men were firing free-will at the paper targets. As usual, McCabe was dead-on. Luca was doing better than his usual. Deke was steady. He paused behind Street. Usually Street was a few points behind McCabe and a few points ahead of Luca. All of his shots were off today – not in a major way, but noticeably. Harrelson could see that Street was not comfortable in his stance and it was throwing his shots off a touch.

On the outdoor range, Harrelson ran them through the hostage course. McCabe had the fastest time, but, surprisingly, Street had the most accurate run.

Still huffing for air and sweating heavily, Street did have a smile after his run through the course.

"Had to make up for that dismal target score," Jim said to his teammates.

"Lt. Harrelson, telephone. Extension four," came over the loudspeaker.

Harrelson disappeared into the range building, rushing out after a minute.

"Let's roll," he called. "Armed robbery. Teen with a gun at a gas station. He has a woman hostage."

#

"McCabe. There's no high ground here. Pick the position you feel can give you the best shot opportunity. Hold there until I give you a go.

"Luca, head around back. Get in as close as you can. Wait for my go.

"Deke, Street. I want you on either side but out of view. Keep alert, no crossfire. Go."

As the men dispersed, Harrelson brought up his bullhorn. "In the gas station, this is the police. We have you surrounded. Do yourself a big favor and release the woman to us. Then throw out your gun and come out with your hands on your head. It's that simple. No one will get hurt."

"I can't, man!" the gunman yelled. "I can't! I gotta have this money or Benny's gonna be hurting me real bad."

Harrelson sent a questioning look to the patrol sergeant beside him. The sergeant shrugged.

"Is Benny a shark?" Harrelson asked through the bullhorn.

"I owe him big. He already broke my arm once. It'll be my leg next. You gotta let me go. I don't wanna hurt the lady. I just gotta have the money." The gunman shuffled back away from the doorway.

"Lieutenant," Luca called quietly over the radio. "I'm in position inside the garage. If TJ could give me a little distraction, I can disarm the gunman."

"Are you sure, Luca?" Harrelson asked.

The answer was two short squawks on the radio, which Harrelson knew meant talking would compromise Luca's position.

"Okay, McCabe," Harrelson said over the radio. "Make it close, just not too close. Deke, Street, heads up. Go."

A .308 bullet popped a penny jar for some charity sitting on the counter inside the station. The spray of pennies shattered the gunman's nerves. Following closely, the fluorescent light above their heads exploded with TJ's second round. The woman screamed and escaped the muddled gunman's grasp, running out the door. Luca was on the gunman as the hostage stepped out of the doorway, pulling the pistol from his hand and driving him into a shelf of potato chips.

Seeing the woman run out of the station, Street sprinted across and grabbed her, using his body as a shield, and sheltered her in a side alcove that led to the restrooms. Deke and Harrelson ran in to assist Luca.

After the police had the gunman in custody, Jim handed the woman off to a female officer. He'd become so accustomed to the throbbing pain in his side that he barely registered it, but the nausea it caused was becoming more difficult to ignore. Before he embarrassed himself by tossing his lunch on scene, he stepped into the van, sinking onto the bench seat. Leaning his head back, he'd just started to recuperate when TJ and Luca joined him.

"Man, those were some shots, TJ," Luca said. "I bet there was a thousand pennies in that jar."

"Hey, Jim, you okay?" TJ asked.

"Yeah," Jim answered. "Just relaxing."

Deke and Harrelson jumped in the van and they were soon on the way back to Olympic.

"Good shooting, TJ," Harrelson said.

"Thank you, sir," TJ said in his usual mild-mannered voice.

Harrelson continued his kudos. "Luca, that was a great tactic you had. No one shot and a good take down.

"And that was a smart move, Street, getting that woman out of any potential line of fire. Good jobs all around."

"Let's see them roast us in the paper for that one," Dom stated.

Jim smiled at Luca's full-force hatred for the media's portrayal of SWAT as gun wielding thugs with badges. He shared Dom's sentiment himself.

"The only person with a valid complaint is whoever has to pick up all those pennies," Deke said, getting laughter from the crew.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, guys, this just came in." Harrelson handed out papers to each team member.

"The Feds asked for our assistance with a drug sting they have set up in the old Fenwick warehouse. This will be a joint effort with them, us, and Sunset SWAT." Harrelson paced between the desks. "They want us in place well before the participants come in."

"That means," Deke said, "that you should hit the head before we head out."

"Wise advice," Harrelson said, laughing with the rest of the team. "We don't know if the wait will be thirty minutes or three hours."

The men scrambled for the restrooms, upstairs and down.

#

"They want all of us up and out of the way," instructed Harrelson. "Being invisible is critical.

"We'll be on the right side, Sunset is taking the left. The Feds will be on the floor." Harrelson looked steadily at each of his men. "Do not shoot unless you're fired upon. There will be a staggering amount of firepower in this building when this goes down. Unless you can see from your vantage point that a good guy is in deadly peril or that a bad guy is escaping – and you must be absolutely sure that is what you see – then hold all fire unless you are a target. Understood?"

Harrelson waited until each man gave him an affirmative response.

"Okay. Here's a map of the planned placement of our manpower." Harrelson handed everyone a map. "Sunset is here," Harrelson pointed to five points on the left side of his paper. "We're here," his finger touched five points on the right. "I'm one; Deke, two; Street, three; McCabe, four; and Luca, five. The Xs mark the Fed positions, which may change depending on what the others do.

"Any questions?"

With no responses, Harrelson released the team to take their positions.

#

At the forty-five minute mark, Jim could hardly stay still. Lying on his stomach behind a narrow gap in a row of shipping crates gave him perfect concealment, but irritated his injury to an unbearable point. Even though he sweated profusely, waves of chills washed over him and nausea had his stomach churning. Peering down, he prayed for the action to begin.

Dom counted down the seconds: three, two, one – fifty minutes had now passed since he'd wedged between these all-too-familiar rafter beams. No position remained comfortable beyond seven minutes and sixteen seconds. He was really glad he'd taken Deke's advice before they left Olympic.

Squinting, TJ thought he glimpsed one of the Sunset members, but it was likely just a shadow. Even with the map showing their locations, TJ couldn't see anyone and wondered if they were trying to make the Olympic team. He knew where Jim and Deke were located, but their concealment was complete. Dom and Hondo were not positioned within his view, but he was just as sure he wouldn't see them if they were. He counted seven Feds on the floor below, visible only because of his position above them. He began his position study again; his fourth run through.

Deke wiped sweat out of his eyes. The heat was stifling up so high. The exhaust fan on the south end of the building turned lazily, not enough to stir the stagnant air. Even though he tried not to, he checked his watch. One hour had passed – one hour and about four pounds of fluid loss.

Harrelson sat motionless, except for his eyes. Like in the jungle years past, he absorbed every detail, made mental notes. He wanted no surprises when things heated up in here – with luck, before this second hour was over.

#

After ninety-four minutes of waiting, the Judas gate in the south roller door opened, admitting seven men. Three carried briefcases; four carried automatic weapons. Harrelson was certain the other three were carrying handguns, possibly folding-stock rifles in the cases. He could hear them talking to the undercover Feds once they reached the desk.

"Damn rough weather over Texas delayed our plane," a slick-haired man said. "Let's get this done. Show me what you've got."

"Been sitting here so long, I almost went to sleep," one of the Feds complained.

"If you don't show us the stuff, you'll be permanently asleep." The four gunners crowded around Slick-hair.

"Settle down," the Fed said. "You want it as much as I want to get rid of it. If I'm permanently asleep, you won't be getting any more."

"Lots of fish in this ocean," Slick-hair growled.

"Not too many fish can swim in water this pure," the Fed crowed. "Here, test for yourself." He handed over a baggie of white powder and the four gunners all grabbed for it at once.

"You idiots!" Slick-hair pushed his drooling group aside. "If this shit is as pure as advertised, you'd all keel over with heart attacks. Stay back."

Slick-hair opened his case and removed a test tube with liquid in it. With a small spoon, he tapped a few grains of the powder into the tube and swirled it around. The group smiled broadly as the cobalt thiocyanate in the tube turned bright blue.

"See, I told you," the Fed gloated.

"That just proves you have caine related product, not necessarily cocaine exclusively. I have one more test." Slick-hair produced a square of aluminum foil and placed a small amount of the powder in the middle of it. Holding the foil by a corner, he lit a Zippo under the powder, watching it burn.

Slick-hair nodded. "Very clear, very little residue."

"How much do you want?" the Fed asked.

"What's the price?" Slick-hair put his stuff back in the case and closed it.

"Ten-G a brick. You'll make sixty at least."

"Five," Slick-hair countered.

"Fifteen." The Fed took the baggie off the desk.

"You son-of-a-bitch." Slick-hair drew a semi-auto pistol from his waistband.

The Fed threw the contents of the still open baggie into the faces of Slick-hair and the four gunners, diving for cover.

All hell broke loose.

Harrelson wasn't sure who shot first from above, but his guess was TJ. One of the four gunners had a bead on one of the Feds but collapsed with a bullet from above before getting the shot off. The buyers scattered and a fire at will order went out.

One of the buyer gunners tried climbing up to one of the catwalks, but Harrelson picked him off, dropping him twelve feet to the floor.

A hot battle flared at the south end directly under the Sunset positions. Harrelson heard his men popping strategic shots in support. One buyer had his rifle pointing straight up, firing on auto. He saw Street uncover to get a shot, heard the double-tap shots, and saw the buyer slam into a stack of boxes and slide to the floor.

"Jim's down."

Harrelson whirled around at Luca's call on the radio. "Can anyone get to him?" He started making his way down to where he last saw Street.

"I'm pinned," TJ called.

"Me, too," Luca radioed.

"I'm on my way," Deke responded.

Deke reached Jim ten paces ahead of Harrelson. Together they pulled Jim behind a stack of crates. He was out cold and pale as a ghost.

"Rapid," Deke said, his fingers on Jim's carotid.

Harrelson inspected Street's vest, finding a tear on the left side. He reached underneath the vest, his hand clean and dry when removed. "Vest held the shot. But it's right over his previous injury."

The shooting dwindled to sporadic. TJ scurried in behind Deke.

"How is he?" TJ asked.

"Vest took the shot. No penetration," Harrelson said.

"Man, those still hurt like crazy." TJ laid his hand on Jim's chest. "Take it easy, man." He edged around his teammate and continued to scout.

Panting, Dom took TJ's spot. "How is he?"

"Vest shot. No penetration," Deke repeated.

"Why's he look like that?" Dom asked.

"Like what?" asked Harrelson.

"Like a vampire drained him," Dom said.

Jim stirred. Tryed to sit up, groaned, and curled protectively around his left side.

Two more gunshots sounded, then someone below called 'all clear'.

Deke looked to Harrelson. "How we gonna get him down from here?"

#

Giving his teammates as much help as he could muster, Jim descended from the upper catwalk, collapsing onto a waiting ambulance gurney. His head was spinning so fast that he wasn't even aware of who was around him. He felt hands patting him and knew his teammates were there. He hoped he hadn't let them down.

#

Harrelson paced. Deke sat staring at an undecipherable painting across the waiting room. Dom and TJ stood in the corner talking quietly. When Betty Harrelson entered the hospital waiting room, she ticked off each member. Jim Street, she noted the missing person.

"Betty." Harrelson stopped pacing and stared at his wife.

Crossing to her husband, Betty took his hand. "I heard one of the Olympic guys had been shot. I had to make sure … how's Jim?"

Dan Harrelson hugged his wife, knowing she'd been worried sick to come to the hospital. He mentally kicked himself for not calling her sooner to assure her that he was fine. He'd underestimated the speed of the grapevine.

He pulled away, reluctantly, and looked into her soft, caring eyes. "Doc rushed him into surgery, saying something about his spleen."

"Surgery? Oh, Dan … his spleen? Was he shot?"

The deep caring in his wife's face for one of his men nearly stripped Harrelson's tight control.

"His vest stopped the shot, but the shock, along with the injury he already had ..." Dan shook his head.

Her questioning look deepened Dan's already guilty conscious. "I may have damaged his spleen in our … training. This shot shock compounded the injury." He could no longer look at her and paced away.

Taking a moment to digest what Dan had said and collect her thoughts, Betty slowly walked to stand behind Dan. He stood stiffly in front of the double doors leading to the surgical wing.

"Dan, how could Jim have been working with internal injuries? Surely he would've been …"

Betty took a step back when Dan whirled around, his eyes burned into her. "He was hurting – hurting bad. We ignored it. _I_ ignored it." He shifted his gaze to a spot on the wall behind her. "I didn't want to think I was capable of hurting a team member."

"It was training, Dan." She hated to see her husband in such distress, but she understood it.

"It was the worst miscalculation I've made. I told them to only go sixty percent, but I couldn't do it myself."

"Oh, Dan." Betty put her hand on his arm, gently. "I know how you guys are. There is nothing you guys don't do at one hundred and ten percent."

Dan pulled his wife close. "And we're all as stubborn and hard-headed as Street. He couldn't submit to the pain and we couldn't admit that we saw it."

Deke walked up to them. "I really thought Jim just needed a couple of slow days to heal up. No one, not even Jim, thought it was this bad."

"I saw the bruise when you sent us home early," Dom said as he and TJ joined the group. "It was impressive and he tried to hide it." He looked at Deke and Harrelson. "I should've said something."

"We all should've said something – including Jim," Harrelson told his team. "Remember this and I don't want to see anyone hiding an injury – no matter how you got it."

Everyone nodded agreement and settled into the uncomfortable chairs, awaiting word.

#

The team jumped up when the double doors swung open. Jim looked as pale as the sheets tucked around him on the gurney. Tubes snaked down from bottles of medicine and blood into his arms. Somber, everyone watched until the gurney turned the corner.

"Doc," Harrelson said, stopping the surgeon. "How is he?"

Doc Morgan removed his sweat-stained cap. "He's going to be all right, Hondo." The doc shook his head. "He's a tough one. Looks like he had a bruised spleen earlier and that bullet blow caused a rupture in the weakened area. He's lucky you got him here quickly."

Harrelson pulled his hand over his face. "Did he lose it?"

Doc Morgan shook his head. "No. It was a small rupture. I repaired it. You'll have to do without him for about eight weeks, though. It has to heal completely before returning to duty."

"He'll get all the time he needs, I can assure you that." Harrelson shook hands with Doc Morgan. "Thank you, doc."

"My pleasure, Hondo." Doc looked at Dom's black eye and TJ's cut lip and shook his head again. "You guys are nuts." He followed after the gurney.

"It's good he didn't lose his spleen, right," TJ asked.

"Not losing internal organs is always a good thing," Deke answered.

"Eight weeks?" Dom said, "I bet he's back in six, tops."

Everyone gave Dom a pained look.

"What?" Dom shrugged. "It's Jim Street we're talking about here. No way he's staying down that long."

Harrelson rolled his eyes heavenward. "There's no help for them."


	4. Chapter 4

"So why exactly did you ask me over here at this hour?" Deke entered Hondo's house dressed in his sweats, as requested.

"I'm starting a morning running program and thought you might want to join in." Harrelson stretched his legs and did a couple of deep knee bends.

"And why are we doing this?" Deke stretched as well, figuring the invite was more mandatory than voluntary.

"We're not getting any younger, Deke. I want to stay on top of the game as long as possible."

"Uh-huh. Is this prompted from having a team of young studs breathing down your neck?" Deke followed Hondo out the door, jogging lightly up the sidewalk.

"Maybe some," Harrelson puffed. "I need to stay on top for a while longer."

"Those guys still have Hondo Harrelson stars in their eyes."

"Well, I'm going to make sure it's deserved. Let's go."

At a moderate pace, Harrelson and Deke headed for the beach. On the soft and shifting sand, their pace slowed and their breath labored. Sweat darkened their clothes.

"How's the new replacement doing?" Harrelson asked between breaths.

"Well, there's been no whoopee cushions or exploding pens this week. That's a definite plus," Deke puffed.

"This guy hasn't made a pass at Susan, has he?" asked Harrelson.

"No, not this guy, but TJ's keeping a keen eye on him."

Harrelson shook his head, skirting a high tide slip. "It sure is tough when you mess with team dynamics. Only three weeks to go."

"Three long weeks," Deke said.

Deke pointed ahead at a jogger closing in quickly. "Will you look at that."

Surprised, Harrelson and Deke stopped. "I'd heard he was healing great, but I didn't expect this," Harrelson said.

The jogger started to pass by, centered on his own pace. Deke called out, "Jim!"

Jim Street turned. Recognition hit and he joined the other two.

"What are you doing out here?" Harrelson asked.

Jim grinned. "I was about to ask you the same thing. I've been jogging to get back in shape for a week. I've been cleared to come back to duty next week. You should have the notice on your desk today."

Deke slapped Jim on the shoulder. "That's super news! The guys can't wait to have you back."

"I've been hearing all about it," Jim said.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Harrelson asked.

Jim faced Harrelson, his posture defensive. "The injury wasn't that bad. I've been working hard and Doc cleared me."

Deke rolled his eyes as the other two faced off.

"Jim." Harrelson stepped away and motioned for his young officer to follow. He held a hand up to Deke, keeping him posted.

After a walking a few yards down the beach, Harrelson said, "This has been chewing at me, so I'm just going to spit it out. I made a serious miscalculation thinking that we could train against each other at less than one hundred ten percent. When it came down to it, when the battle was on the line – I couldn't do it myself."

They walked along the surf line for a quiet while.

"I thought if a sixty percent blow took me out that I'd never be a good SWAT officer," Jim said.

Neither man looked at the other, kept walking.

"I'll agree with that." Harrelson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "However, that's not what you got. I couldn't do it. Instinct took over and you were like any other combatant. I'm really sorry about that."

"That's a good thing, Lieutenant." Jim said. "I know if I need your help I'll get it full bore." He paused a beat. "And if I screw up, you'll be after me the same way."

Harrelson stopped and faced Jim. "That's the way it is for all of us."

Jim nodded agreement.

"So you think you're ready for duty?" asked Harrelson.

"One hundred ten percent," Jim answered.

"Here, too?" Harrelson tapped his temple.

Jim stared off at the ocean waves for a couple of seconds. "Absolutely, Lieutenant."

Harrelson turned Jim, pointing back up the beach at Deke. "Show me. One hundred ten percent."

Deke watched the neck-and-neck race gobble the beach toward him. As they neared, the strain in their faces reflected their no-holds barred effort. Legs and arms pumping, the duo flashed past Deke dead even. It wasn't until they stopped that the individual cost was evident.

Harrelson heaved for breath, his hands on his knees. Street paced with his interlocked hands resting on his head.

"It'll be good having you back, Street." Harrelson panted. "Having the team whole."

Jim smiled. "Yes, sir!" He turned and jogged away.

"Well, I'll be damned," Harrelson said, beginning to catch his breath.

"What's that?" asked Deke.

"Luca was right."


End file.
